by Lena Manta
None of them slept that night. Instead, they sat in front of the fire while Melissanthi talked nonstop until the dawn broke and her voice was hoarse. She hid nothing from her mother and her grandmother. Her whole life, from the day she left, became like a confession. She had to get out all the bad things that life had burdened her with. She wanted to cry again for her loved ones who had died, for the joy that life had denied her, for the mistakes that had left her alone with only photographs in her hands.
With the first shy rays of the sun, Theodora took her daughter’s hand and led her to bed. She undressed her as if she was a little girl and made her lie down under the covers. Then she sat beside her and stroked her hair. Their eyes met.
“You were right, Mother,” Melissanthi said softly. “The river carried me a long way away.”
“I was wrong, then,” Theodora answered, and when she saw her daughter’s confused expression, she went on: “I told you that life was like the river. If it carries you away, you never return. But you returned.”
“I’ve come back forever, Mother. This is my place. I want to end my life here.”
“Life doesn’t end, my daughter. It flows forever, like the river. Except that you’re in a boat now, and you’re the one holding the oars. Sleep. The past is over. You have three men in heaven looking after you, and two women on earth who love you. Sleep!”
Melissanthi closed her eyes. Her mother’s soft hand, the night-long confession of her painful past, and the stress of the recent weeks had all exhausted her.
As soon as Theodora realized her daughter was sleeping heavily, she returned to the kitchen. Julia had thrown more wood on the fire and was waiting with the coffee in her hand.
“Come,” she said. “I’ve made you coffee.”
Theodora collapsed into a chair. Her mother gave her the cup and then stood beside her, stroking her hair.
“Courage, my dear,” she said softly. “Our girl has come back, but she’s covered in wounds. We’ll have to heal them.”
“My God! What my child has gone through!” Theodora’s tears began to flow.
“The child paid dearly for her mistakes—and she did make mistakes. But now she’s here, and what happened can’t be undone.”
“How can I comfort her for all that? For her child . . . my grandchild?”
“Time will be the doctor, and we two will be the nurses. Drink your coffee now, then let’s go and light a candle for the poor souls that were lost.”
Melissanthi slept for a whole twenty-four hours, to the point where Theodora became anxious and kept going to her room to check on her. When she finally woke up, she was much better. Her grandmother sat her down with some milk and bread and honey in front of her, then stood over her until she had consumed every last bit of it.
It was almost strange how fast Melissanthi took up the rhythms of the village again, as if she hadn’t been gone for a single day. Every morning, she drank her coffee with her mother and grandmother, went shopping, and helped with all the household jobs as she had once upon a time. In the afternoons she sat with them on the verandah as they talked about the news of the village, the weddings, the funerals, and the gossip that Mr. Karavassilis was the first to learn and spread around. The only subject they didn’t mention was Polyxeni. Theodora had, of course, explained to her eldest daughter the manner in which her sister had left, then the two of them quickly changed the subject as if by prearrangement. But Julia wasn’t the sort of person who buried her head in the sand, so one afternoon as they were drinking their usual coffee on the verandah, she brought up the subject again.
“Tell me, granddaughter,” she began cheerfully. “When you were living in Athens, didn’t you hear anything about our Polyxeni?”
Mother and daughter exchanged a quick glance, then Melissanthi looked down at her cup.
But her grandmother persisted. “What? Didn’t you hear?” she continued. “The news reached us here, and you, who were living in Athens, didn’t know?”
“The truth is that I knew about her,” Melissanthi finally answered. “Our Polyxeni became very well known.”
“Did you ever see her?” Theodora wanted to know.
“Yes. A few years ago, Apostolos took me to the theater. We didn’t know that this Xenia Olympiou, whose performances everyone was talking about, was Polyxeni. But we realized it when we saw her on the stage.”
“How was she?” Theodora asked.
“Beautiful . . . very beautiful, Mother. Everyone was enchanted, watching her.”
“Did you speak to her?” Julia inquired longingly.
“No, Grandmother. After the performance a lot of people from the audience rushed to the dressing room to get her autograph, but I took my husband and we left.”
“Why, my girl?” Theodora asked. “Why didn’t you go and find her and speak to her, so that you two, at least, could be together?”
“I don’t know. Truly, I don’t know. The way I saw her on the stage—beautiful, radiant—it was as if she were someone else. It wasn’t the Polyxeni who scraped her knees with me when we played, my sister who I struggled with so she would learn her multiplication. She was a famous actress, not the girl I left behind when I went away.”
“I understand,” Theodora murmured. “When I see her on the screen in the films that show here sometimes, I don’t recognize the daughter whose hair I braided so tightly.”
“Anyway, I learned all about her from the newspapers. Later her life was turned upside down too.” Melissanthi was silent. She turned her eyes again to the river. It had been nearly a month since she’d returned and she hadn’t approached it. She still avoided even looking at it until now.
“What’s going on, Melissanthi?” her mother asked. “Why are you looking at the river? Why don’t you go near it anymore? The river’s not responsible for what happened to you. It was always here, but you left. You let life take you from your path.”
“The same as Polyxeni,” the young woman whispered and looked sadly at Theodora. “Something tells me that she’ll come back here too—with open wounds.”
Theodora’s heart contracted. She prayed with all her strength that this premonition of Melissanthi’s wasn’t true.
Theodora swept the wooden verandah with all her strength, more because she wanted something to do than because it was dirty. Her mother had lain down for a rest, as had Melissanthi, but Theodora herself never slept during the day. As the years passed, she seemed to need less and less sleep, and besides she considered naps a waste of time.
Spring had worked its miracle again, adorning the garden with flowers of every color and filling the air with their scent. Theodora had loved spring since she was a child. In a few days they would be celebrating the first of May, and she was sad that she didn’t have a single grandchild near her to teach how to weave a wreath.
She looked down at the river, out of habit more than anything, and the broom fell from her hands. The head that emerged from the water was her daughter’s.
Aspasia had arrived at midday that day holding little Theodora’s hand tightly. The bus had made the child a little dizzy, but as soon as she set foot in the square she recovered and looked around her with interest.
“Is this your village, Mama?” she asked.
“Yes, this is the square. In the summer it’s full of children playing, old men drinking coffee, and girls sharing their first secrets under the plane tree.”
“Did you do that too?”
“Yes, but that was a lifetime ago! My sisters and I used to sit here and watch the village boys, and we’d laugh when we saw them trying to impress us.”
Theodora looked at her mother and smiled. She’d never seen her like this. This calmness and that sweet smile, which gently raised the corners of her lips, was something she liked very much. A slight wind lifted their hair. Aspasia raised her eyes and saw the plane tree shaking its leaves, making a soft noise like a whisper, and only she knew what it was saying to her: “Welcome!”
“And where’s
your house, Mama? Where’s the river?” her daughter asked, interrupting her reverie.
“We’ll have to walk. Are you tired? Do you want us to sit and drink an orange soda first?”
“No! No, Mama! I want to see where you grew up so much.”
Picking up her suitcase, Aspasia showed Theodora the way. At the clearing where she’d first met Stavros, she stood still and her daughter looked at her anxiously.
“What’s the matter, Mama? Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m fine. But this is where I first met your father.”
“Really?” Theodora’s eyes widened and she looked around her with interest.
“Yes, he used to bring supplies for Mr. Karavassilis’s grocery store—the one you saw when we got off the bus—and he was lost. I was looking for a quiet place where I could practice the latest popular song.” Aspasia stopped and her bitter smile made Theodora squeeze her hand encouragingly so she would continue. “I showed him the way, and afterward, because it was late and he couldn’t go back, I took him to your grandmother and asked her to let him stay.”
“And Grandmother? Did she agree?”
“Yes. She let him sleep in the kitchen and I’m sure that she didn’t close her eyes all night because she was so anxious with a strange man in our house. I remember she locked us in our rooms.”
“And then . . .”
“Then your father began to come more and more often . . . and I waited for him, each time looking forward to it more and more.”
“Did you love him, Mama?”
“I think I loved him from the first moment I saw him. Don’t ask me anything else, though. I don’t know what happened to us afterward; somehow we lost what we had.”
They went on walking in silence. Aspasia was almost holding her breath. What sort of state would the house be in, she wondered. Was her mother well? And Grandmother? And Grandfather? She had never been interested in finding out how they were doing in all these years and now . . . She had trouble holding back a cry that rose to her lips when she saw the house looking like new and when her eyes rested on the lazy river. It was as if a day hadn’t passed since she’d left. She walked toward the riverbank as if she was hypnotized, remembering her mother’s words: “And if the trials are very strong, remember that here, in this corner of the earth, is the river. Dive into it to purify yourself again!”
When she reached the river’s edge, Aspasia didn’t hesitate for a moment. The freezing water first touched her feet, then reached her knees. She went ahead and submerged herself until she felt it enveloping her entire body. A thousand freezing needles pierced her skin and she abandoned herself to them. She didn’t know whether her encounter with the frigid water would be enough to wash away all the mistakes she’d made. She didn’t know if one immersion would be enough to dissolve the shame she felt.
“Come out, Aspasia!”
She turned and saw her mother standing on the bank with a blanket in her hand, looking at her with tear-filled eyes.
“Whatever it is you want the river to wash off you, it’s gone now,” Theodora continued. “You don’t have to catch pneumonia!”
Aspasia came out and stood in front of her mother, shivering from cold and emotion. Theodora wrapped the blanket around her and held her. The younger woman felt like a boat that had been smashed by a storm and had finally entered a calm harbor. Her mother stroked her tenderly and rested her lips on her wet hair, leaving hungry kisses there. Aspasia felt burning tears well up in her eyes, scorching her like molten metal, and sobs shook her body.
“Shhh!” her mother quieted her. “Enough. You came back; everything will be fine. Everything will be mended.”
Aspasia pulled back from her mother’s arms and fixed her eyes on hers. “Mama, I’m sorry,” she managed to say, her chin trembling uncontrollably.
“Only God forgives, my child. People give understanding and love. Welcome home.”
Little Theodora had stood back watching her mother and grandmother’s reunion, but now she thought she’d waited long enough. She also wanted to know her grandmother’s embrace and came closer. Sensing the girl’s presence, Theodora turned toward her. She looked so much like Aspasia at that age that Theodora was overwhelmed.
“Mother, this is your granddaughter and she’s named after you,” Aspasia said quietly.
“Hello, Grandma.”
With tears of joy, the elder Theodora folded the child in her arms. She let her hands pass over her, as if she wanted an imprint of every inch of her on her palms. Then she turned her gaze toward the blue sky and whispered her thanks to God. “Praised be your name who made me worthy of holding at least one grandchild in my arms!” As if she’d suddenly remembered, the elder Theodora turned to Aspasia and asked, “And the other one? You had another daughter, didn’t you?” Aspasia’s look froze her soul. “What happened to Stella, Aspasia? Why isn’t she with you?”
Aspasia lowered her head and Theodora turned to her grandchild.
“She might be watching us now,” the girl answered.
Theodora brought her hand to her lips. Pain distorted her features for a moment, but her granddaughter’s eyes, which were looking at her pleadingly, brought her back to herself. “Let’s go!” she said decisively. “Your mother must change out of those wet clothes and then the others have to see you.”
“What others?” Aspasia wanted to know.
“First, your grandmother!”
“Has Mama got a grandmother?” Little Theodora seemed excited by the news.
“Of course she has! And you have a great-grandmother!”
“Is Grandmother well?” Aspasia asked.
“Better than all of us. Come, let’s go! And it’s not only Julia in the house; Melissanthi has come back too.”
Aspasia’s eyes opened wide. “Is my sister really here?” she asked, and when her mother nodded, she threw off the blanket and started running toward the house.
Melissanthi had gotten up from the bed with a strange feeling. She had enjoyed the book she was reading until yesterday, but now she felt she didn’t understand it. She gave up the effort and went to look for her mother with the intention of taking her to the village for an afternoon dessert at Mr. Karavassilis’s shop. When she didn’t find her in the house, she went out onto the verandah to look for her. It was at that very moment that Aspasia came out of the river.
The shock was so strong it left Melissanthi stunned. She couldn’t believe her eyes—the scene in front of her seemed crazy. As if of their own volition, her legs began to take her down the steps, but her strength abandoned her and she found herself sitting on the fifth step watching the two women embrace. When her eyes rested on the young girl that her mother was holding in her arms, she stopped breathing. It must be her sister’s daughter, her niece.
She jumped up like a spring and began to run at the same moment that Aspasia came running to meet her. Their hearts met before they did, and when their bodies caught up, each hugged the other with the hunger of two decades. Theodora walked toward them, holding her granddaughter around the shoulders, her heart singing with joy.
“It’s a lovely picture, isn’t it, Grandma?” little Theodora asked.
“The most beautiful! My sweet child, I’m so happy. I think I must be dreaming!”
Melissanthi managed to let go of her sister long enough to turn toward her niece. “This is your daughter, isn’t it?” she asked Aspasia.
“Yes . . . Theodora.”
Melissanthi approached the girl and hugged her. “You’re exactly like your mother!” she said after she’d planted many kisses on her cheeks.
That night the moon came out to shine on their happy home. The two chestnut trees were still—not a rustle, not a stir—so as not to disturb the women sitting in the kitchen, trying to fill the gap of twenty years, however painful that was. Julia held her great-granddaughter’s hand as if she was afraid that this miracle that life had granted her might disappear. The elder Theodora kept wiping her eyes as Aspasia told h
er about Stella’s death. She didn’t have the courage to tell her mother the rest of the story, at least not in front of the child.
When the little one’s eyes grew heavy and she’d been put to bed, mother and grandmother tactfully withdrew, leaving the two sisters alone. Only then did Aspasia release what she had carried inside her with so much pain. Melissanthi listened to the confession carefully. Aspasia stopped talking when she’d finished the story and looked at her sister, who was sitting in silence.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked.
“What should I say?”
“I don’t know . . . I imagine you didn’t expect that your sister could fall so low. Maybe you despise me. I wouldn’t blame you, of course.”
“You’re very far from the truth,” Melissanthi said. “I’m not one to cast stones.”
It was now her turn to talk, to bare her soul and tell the story of the journey that had led her to take the road of return.
“Do you understand now why I don’t judge you?” Melissanthi asked when she had finished. “The worst thing is that I returned with empty arms. What I wouldn’t give to have my child with me.”
“Yes, I understand. I lost a child too, and I lost my husband. And if little Theodora had followed her father and I’d lost her, as well, I would have made up my mind to . . . leave.”
“You mean to commit suicide?”
“That was one thought I had. I had lost everything.”
“Like me. I don’t know what kept me alive after the death of my child. I think I kept myself going so I could accept the punishment that I received. I didn’t want to run away and save myself from it. I bent my head as if God had slapped me. After my husband’s death, I had no doubt that God had condemned me to loneliness and I accepted it. Apostolos himself showed me the way to come back. He loved me so much that he didn’t want to leave me without help, even after his death.”